A Mirrored World
by NecroMarie
Summary: An alternate reality where Talon, an promising ranger from Demacia cross paths with Quinn, an assassin working under the Noxian hierarchy. As his admiration for the woman grew, his only option to stop it from distracting him further was to put her in his kill list. And she couldn't agree any better.
1. 1

In alternate realities where they would still meet and fall in love over again.

People feared her. A predator of the night who feeds from the rages of war. She was unstoppable along with her companion, a large hawk with the keenest of sight and feathers of steel. Some said it was large enough to carry an average human man and carry him upon the winds and gauge his eyes out, heart pierced by the blades of his mistress. She was no soldier yet she had the discipline of one. Without it, she wouldn't have been in the top ranks of the Noxian High Command. Noxus. It brought a coppery taste in his mouth when he thought of it.

The numerous times he had heard of her had ever been of an unexpected death of a comrade. A top-ranked soldier, a mage, a noble. The list goes on until he started to step in and investigate the scenes. He was no detective but he was a ranger. It was his duty to slip through any situation and gather as much intel as he could get anywhere he'd been.

Talon owed his life to Demacia as an orphaned boy. He survived the harsh streets in Noxus when he was young. He only got out because of a Demacian spy that was assigned a task in the deep slums of Noxus. He was shown kindness from a stranger naive of his surroundings. He even tried besting him in combat like the same way he defended himself from anyone who threatens him. Even the ones who tried to help. Until he was proved to be wrong. Suprised as he was, there was one thing they both had in common- the initiative to get out of the wretched place. And look where he was now. Following the footsteps of an honorable man, serving the place they both grew up loving. Demacia was a haven for those who wanted to redeem themselves. But where was the lie? He thought about it ever so often. Maybe it was too perfect for him yet there was nothing else to serve.

And there he stood from a vantage point from a tree near a cottage far from the borderlands of Demacia where one of the commanders lived. A humble man he was, yet so secretive, so vague but his humility convinced the people he was worthy of respect. A war veteran yet he didn't survive in his own safe haven. Talon thought it was a dumb move- to expose himself near the unknown, near the forest that brought anything but danger near its path. Where an assassin could easily see where he is in his most vulnerable state. She must have stalked him for days without even knowing. But the bird must have alarmed him somehow. He looked up to see the rustling leaves and the branches that swayed. Funny, he thought at some point the girl had a weakness with trees. Or at some point, habits of leaving a mark or a feather. She was precise, yes but she's human after all. And that enormous bird must have a large stomach to fill especially with a forest with hundreds of wildlings to hunt. But he needed to find something from the highest tree near the cottage where the fallen commander took refuge. Any claw marks perhaps? Or anything that fell from a pack if she ever had one. He layed his hand upon the rough textures of the large trunk, searching for anything to aid him in his investigation, feeling the patterns of each vein.

Until he found it- a stab mark and she tried to hide it by burying the dark line with chips of wood and bark dust. She somehow struggled to get up or struggled to get down. It was a tall tree after all.

He climbed down slowly, placing the flat of his boot against the branches that adorned the tree. And landed with a small jump to a pile of leaves. He was sure that the assassin who was responsible for the murder was the infamous Quinn. The one who dyed the feathers of a Demacian eagle as if it was a territory marked as her own. Numerous stories littered the minds of those who lived to tell it- a young captive from the Demacian borderlands, orphaned from a young age, kidnapped by the High Command. The daughter of a scout and a knight, destined for greatness more than they could've achieved, turned into a monster feared by all who've heard of the tragic story of the woman who hailed from the shadows of Demacia and rose to Noxian glory. As overwhelming as it sounds, it was his task to track her down. But before he retrace her steps, he had to see from her eyes, from her perspective. And the shadows were his best bet.

He walked towards the scene of the crime- inside the cottage where the commander's last moments were spent. The soft crunching of grass was familiar to his ears, giving him a sense of relief.

It was traumatizing to know the method of killing when the autopsy was finished. It was a clean stroke of a blade to his throat. At the scene of the crime, there were unknown specks of blood on the wooden floor near the bedside table. He had a hunch it belonged to the killer herself.

He entered wearily, the door creaking under his firm grip. The house smelled of pine and hints of steel. It was as if someone visited before he did. He observed the oak walls and saw framed sketches of the places where the commander have been to in his years of service. Ionia, Freljord and even Noxus- the skull-shaped mountain from a distance. A few potted plants beside the Ionian woven chairs and his framed tea set. He didn't really get the point of framing things you could use but they must be of importance to the owner.

He pressed on, walking towards his bedroom. It was a humble room, one that he would rather sleep in than his overwhelming bed near the castle. Maybe he had something there. A journal, postcards? Maybe photographs of his family or friends. He didn't mention any of them so the ranger suspected that they were deceased. Talon noticed that the sheets were replaced by clean ones, to honor his humble home and respects to his passing. Why was he killed, aside from his rank? He was one of the commanders with the fewest years left of service and wasn't considered a threat at all. He was the commander who trained the current leaders who are more of a threat to Noxus. It felt like it was more of a personal murder than those of an assassination. He was ready for retirement after the military graduation of his last batch of cadets. Why now? Why not when he was still training them?

The answers lie within the woman. He had to find her. He needed to retrace her steps and interrogate her. He could capture her yes, but it was his personal curiosity that urged him to give her a chance to speak.

He turned and left.

It's not like he would expect to see her instantly the day after the commander's funeral but it was a coincidence he saw her standing on the same tree he'd climbed a few days ago. He hid as quick as possible or he'll be dead by the minute especially with a giant bird looming over the trees. He got a peek of her and he was sure that it was her. Clothes that reminded him of bloodstained navy and silver. If she was a Demacian soldier, she would've had the most regal blue and golden clothes that rivaled her current outfit. Her face was far from his sight but he saw a small ponytail that hung from the back of her head. He leaned against the tree where he hid, loading his large repeater crossbow for a few rounds and braced himself.

He heard a small gust of wind before he could turn his head- she was gone.

He still had to find her amidst the recent happenings such as the military graduation ceremony that happened a few weeks after his first encounter with the intriguing woman. His arrival at Noxus was thought out carefully. The weapons he brought, his clothes, his pack. He should be cautious, being a Demacian elite among the vile streets of Noxus where he once lived and killed to survive. He'd worn rag-like clothes and wielded the blunt daggers that he'd picked up when he was a kid. It brought him back to when he was a scared little boy. He's back and was more than capable enough to defend himself from the dangers than hid underneath the shadows. Even from her. She was still a woman after all, he caught her athletic and lithe frame yet she was taller than the average woman. A few inches smaller than him maybe. Knowing stories of her, she must've been afraid like he was once. And maybe she was somehow forced to be who she was just like him. What if she wasn't what he expected.

What if she was just as vulnerable as he was.

He mapped the place before choosing where to stay in for a few days, then the next to draw less attention and less possibilty of getting murdered in his sleep. Or maybe he won't get enough sleep. The town itself is already a nightmare. The stores around the place varied among three: Illegal, Needs and Weapons. Pubs were a common thing and he noticed that most of them were either full or a strip club. The profanities and violence around him made him sick. The place was worse than when he saw it last. A few years ago when he needed to gather intel from the Noxian General, Darius and his brother Draven. Some plans regarding the recent disappearance of Marcus Du Couteau. Not that he wanted to find him, he just needed to know what was to happen to Noxus after recent events and how it will affect the neighboring factions. The King senses a new war brewing. And he wasn't liking it. Talon was trusted enough to slip in and out in a matter of three days and he succeeded. No wonder he was now assigned to capture one of the most regal assassins of Noxus. Maybe she was in one of those pubs, who knows?

He wondered who took her in though and how she found her companion.

It was tiring, the fact that he was wearing less clothes than his usual dark blue and golden armor and had nothing but a small set of daggers to defend himself. He looked like a Noxian commoner in his dark grey long sleeved shirt, dark pants and brown boots. He bought a backpack big enough to hold his clothes back in Demacia a few weeks ago for the next few days of staying in Noxus and a journal. In case he won't make it, he would at least share his recent encounters with the assassin on each page. Noxus must've had a newsteller of some sort or any records of executions and assassinations. Or he could ask anyone around him. Well that's a great idea to draw more suspicion to him.

Until something had caught his eye: Posters of wanted criminals. Some thieves, illegal exporters, murderers and assassins. They were all littered on the brick walls that started from one of the deepest streets of Noxus. He picked up one of the posters that fell from the hall of criminals. It was an advertisement of a sort though. Swain's face was on the paper with a promising quote of leadership. The paper was crisp from the numerous rains that poured over the lands and the days that dried it. Swain has a raven, Quinn has an eagle... did that mean anything or was it just a coincidence? Pollo Grundy, Wanted: Dead or alive, Missing person... The Black Rose? Beware: Female blood-sucking Hemomancer?

Until he saw it: An old poster.

 _Wanted (Dead or Alive) Cadet Quinn Du Couteau, traitor to the Crimson Elite, assassinated own commandant._

 _Eyes: Gold_

 _Height: 5'9 or 6"_

 _Age: Unknown_

 _Keep your windows locked_

 _Slits throats, wrists and is accompanied by a large bird of an unidentified species, gauges eyes out from skulls._

It looked like it was posted years ago and it had only one copy. Unlike the other posters, this one was printed in a serious and urgent manner. Her face was shown and her sharp features were slowly fading from the yellowed paper. She had longer hair compared to her short ponytail hairdo and an intensity to her eyes that he can't read. Was it referenced? Copied? Or was it just a simple drawing from a memory? And on her shoulder were piercing talons that belonged to her avian companion. He folded it neatly and turned, watching the sky darken. It was time for him to leave that part of the city.

Quinn Du Couteau. And he thought the phrase "Du Couteau sisters" were referred to Katarina and Cassiopeia Du Couteau. He was wrong. She had a name for herself other than that of a noble family. They feared her for the things she did and not for where she grew up from. He admired her for it. They were so alike in many perspectives.

Walking from a distance, he didn't noticed the feather that fell from the rooftop.

It was strange to see him there, lying on the bed like when she was supposed to kill that man from the cottage in the woods. She remember how she left him there, alive when she saw the eyes of the father she once believed to be dead. He was too ambitious to be such a high-ranking officer and turn boys into men and men into soldiers. Where was he when she was taken from there? Where were the proud Demacians who loved their nation and their fellow Demacians? Demacians like who she was back then. They were all hypocrites. They believe that unity among their nation will tie them together yet they can't protect even the farthest parts of it. Demacians. All of them, she hated. She saw the lies of them until that night she was to assassinate the commandant that Swain had the deepest grudge on. She wasn't told a name, she was told of a location. She thought it was more convenient than being told a name that she'd hunt down. All she needed to do was wait among the trees and wait for signs of movement inside and strike when the night is still young. She can't kill her own father and she fleed at the sight of the same hazel eyes her deceased brother had. It was a surprise to her. And all the memories came back to her, when she was once a toddler until a smoke grew and the flames of war approached.

She blinked, observing the man she felt was following her. She knew him. Or at least, heard of him. The same slippery ranger that stole intel that prepared the other factions for another Noxian era of invasion. She should hate him but she was not loyal to the new Noxus as much as she did when Noxus was under the command of her foster father. This Demacian man earned her respect. If she were to judge his looks, he was far from the average Demacian man she would encounter. He had long hair that was tied up into a lazy ponytail, a jawbone that she would less appreciate to punch unlike the perfect-looking proud Demacian man she'd expected.

 _Easy on the eyes, unaware of slight movement. Sloppy._

Either he was or she's just too good at sneaking up to her victims. But this one looked like a potentially good catch. Not that she knew of his plans but it's not everyday that you see the same man who snuck up behind you in a forest is found looking at your throwback criminal poster in your own faction. He's definitely onto her. She doesn't know what's next of his plans. Maybe she'll just kill or interrogate him. Or both. But this man was interesting.

She swiped the small book that layed on the bedside table and started reading about his typical everyday journal notes. It's funny that she's reading a grown man's diary. One of the entertainments of sneaking into someone's sleeping quarters is knowing a part of himself through anything that is caught in plain sight.

She lowered her hood as she read.

 _If I won't make it, send my repects to the king and that I have found evidence for the murder of..._

Silly man. He didn't even know aside from the true killer, she assassinated officers more regal than her father. She killed the true killer and buried her on Demacian soil. It was somehow Swain's test. And she failed miserably, making her suffer by assigning one of her rivals to murder her father instead. She knew Swain was a sadist. But this proved that he was more than that. He was a manipulative leader rather than that of Marcus Du Couteau. Her sisters griefed while she didn't let her emotions overwhelm her. She decided to take action and find out where Marcus' whereabouts have been. Aside from that, she wasn't used to comforting her softened sisters. And who else was there to find Marcus if not her.

This man called Talon shifted, he sleeps with his eyes half open and wore a black muscle shirt and boxers for sleepwear. How much skin had he exposed? Her twin arm blades were unsheathed from the inside of her sleeves. She wasn't as seductive as Katarina but she had her own style of intimidating men. She doesn't have Cassiopeia's sharp tongue but she had their father's shared knowledge and wit. And yet she was too smart or dumb not to kill him. She'd get her emotions get the better of her and it's best not to kill a Demacian after her encounter with her father.

She clenched her fists, her hood hung low.

She won't.

She _can't_.

 _T_ o _be continued..._


	2. 2: Falling Apart

She watched the whole house burn.

As all the memories faded into ashes and dust, she placed the sight of it in the back of her mind. Tears formed in her eyes, and fear took over her heart. Wisps of her short, violet hair danced on her youthful face. The fire and moonlight lit up her soft features, her tiny form trembled under the scorching heat. Several men in silver armor pranced around, shouting curses at the nation she'd loved. Demacia this, Demacia that. She was almost tired of hearing it. In few years she'd lived, she wondered if she would adhere to her loyalty as a Demacian. The child was clueless, the voices in her head desperately looking for answers as she continued staring right into the blinding embers that ate away what was left of her house. Her family was in there. She was oblivious to what she could do to save them.

Yet she was but a child, her naivety shines through adversity and she could only watch as her family screamed as they turned into obsidian-colored dust.

The tears flowed freely from her delicate cheeks, her breath wavering from the confusion and dark smoke that she inhaled. She can't take it. Until she remembered the last words of her mother as she was knocked out by a silver clad demon with the face of a man.

Run, Quinn. RUN.

Her golden eyes widened, just the thought that they would come for her next tore the shackles that immobilized her from head to toe. She turned on her feet, leaves crunching under her sandals and went for it. Into the forest, anywhere, just anywhere away from the scary demons who set her home in flames. The ones who murdered her whole family. Her brother, her mother, her father.

She felt a large pair of hands grab her waist, hefting her up to take a good look. She stared into the emerald eyes of the man who will change her life forever.

"Quinn."

She fell out of her trance, tilting her head slightly to meet the eyes of her adoptive sister. She could almost see the smoke from her ears.

"Hey."

Quinn replied in a monotone voice, addressing her sister, trying to be as calm and collected as possible. Concealing the distressed state she was in, she saw the expressions on Katarina's face. The younger woman could tell that she wasn't buying it, seeing the annoyance in her sharp angled face.

"Pay attention, featherbrain. You aren't even trying. You know how critical this meeting is and we're trying to hide the mistake you did in the mission." She said, adding a tone at the word mistake.

The word was almost foreign to her ears. She almost felt pride on the rare occurence of her faults, yet disgusted at her performance. Letting her emotions seep through her inked soul.

She had her head up high, showing no signs of weakness or emotions on her face. But she can't help but ponder about the memories she had with the Du Couteau household right there where they all once sat in the dining room.

The Du Couteau household, despite having a reputation and standing out from the Noxian hierarchy, was a traditional family with simple values. As the time passed by, it slowly faded away. The young woman's dreams of keeping her new family alive started to vanish one by one.

Cassiopeia, the ambitious lady that she was, fled for Shurima and returned a changed woman-or half woman to be exact, her skin was covered with scales and her tongue was forked. She was a person who had always envied other people. Their successes, their riches, the adventures they talk about at every party they hosted. She wanted everything. Until she had started reading about the history of Shurima in their father's private library. She stole a few books and fled into her room, reading days and days about the betrayal of Xerath, the Ascended Brothers and The Fallen Emperor of Shurima.

Quinn remembered how much Cassiopeia wanted to travel somewhere, anywhere but in the mansion she had always felt caged in. As she was set free, her memories of the family she had loved faded from her mind, corrupted by greed, ambition and lust for power.

A chair was taken away from the dinner table she'd admired so much. The power it could do, bringing families together was the kind of magic she would always wonder. But then Cassiopeia decided not to come home.

She kept it at the back of her mind, only focusing on what was always happening. Trying to forget about the loss of her sister's presence in the Du Couteau mansion. Until then, she'd trained and trained countless hours with the eldest sister, Katarina. Quinn had always admired her spirit. Her attitude, power and resolve was beyond what she had imagined a Noxian could ever possess. At the first glance of her sister, the flowing red hair cascaded on her shoulders like a waterfall of blood, her emerald eyes were like gems that reflected the light quite beautifully and the striking features of her face were enough to strike fear in anyone who dare lay their eyes on her.

Until that night she got her scar, Quinn sensed that she might not be the same person she knew.

Quinn remembered hearing her father's harsh words that night, seeing the eldest Du Couteau sibling show weakness in front of someone was too much to handle. The woman who she'd looked up to, her ally, her friend. Lost. Someone who Quinn had sought out for direction was blinded and lost.

And then Katarina, like their beloved Cassiopeia, did not come back to their dinner table as her services were often requested after proving herself to their father. Her heart swelled with pride and joy for the success of the woman she'd looked up to. But felt the disappointment that came with the latter.

So it was down to her and Marcus, her father. Each hearty meals were a blessing. Their discussions about every mission, every father and daughter bonding he'd ever lost from his blood were compensated. She was used to donning her emotionless face, but with Marcus, it was an exception. Every mission, she followed through. Every infiltration, assassination, she had delivered. All of his criticisms, she had accepted and added onto her performance. It only made her more efficient and versatile.

Until he just... disappeared. Just as sudden as everything she'd grown to appreciate in her life. She kept her emotions in check, her spirit unyielding. She vowed to find him and maybe, everything, along with the nostalgic episodes will fade. And she could go back to the life of slashing people's throats and gouging their eyes out with her most loyal companion and come home to the group of people she'd grown fond of- her family.

As the time passed and she'd recall the incident, her hood was down on her shoulders, showing how her dark brows creased and how the emotions danced on on her youthful face. Her calm and emotionless facade melting, showing the softer, brittle part of her. She knew how much her sister wanted to give her a slap on her flushed cheeks. Letting emotions take control of her in a mission vaguely reminded her of how Katarina was before she'd come of age and prove herself worthy of Marcus Du Couteau's trust.

She had never felt as worthy as Katarina could be for her father's praise and recognition, but she could at least feel it from the woman she had always looked up to. She can prove herself to Katarina. She has to. Or finding Marcus would be more painful than she would have thought, knowing that she had failed the eldest Du Couteau sibling, the new head of the family. She owed it all to him, the General, their mentor and beloved father.

"Look." Katarina started, putting her hands on the polished, spruce table. "I can't understand why you hesitated to kill your target, murdered one of Swain's dogs and blamed it on the locals. Did you think you could slip away by just saying one of them carried a sword and slit his throat with EASE?"

She slammed her hand on the table and watched as her younger sister blink, distress was painted on her face. Of all the years of her life in the household, this had to be where she would fall.

Katarina was blaming herself for letting this happen. She knew that Swain was onto them and he stabbed them right at the heart, the youngest Du Couteau sister. The small light that filtered through the crevices of the dark mansion of their small household. It was a test. And she knew it was a trap. To see if their loyalties lie within the Nation's new ruler, despite having their father vanish. To see that the strength they had shown to their adversaries were still alive. To see how useful they still are. They were undisposable but a threat to Swain simultaneously.

The amount of work was overwhelming them. Overwhelming her. She needed to find Marcus and give the hope that Noxus needed. They all had to submit to Jericho Swain's commands and it was beyond what she had signed for. Even Cassie, the one who seemed to care less about the Noxian heirarchy, had a fear of what was to come to their lives. Without the man of the house, they had to stand their ground. The three of them. Together. Cassiopeia ceased to leave the house as often, Quinn patrolled the streets more and Katarina stayed in her father's office, searching for anything that would explain how he'd vanished from their sights.

She knew she had to know what happened to the mission as well to know at least why her younger sister, the little spitfire she was, didn't muster the strength to even slit the target's throat. And maybe assist in soothing the inner turmoil that their youngest sister was facing. Shit happens. And this was one of the serious shit in life where they could learn something from it. Who was he really? She mentally shook the questions out of her mind, looking back at the woman who sat across from the table.

"How many times have I told you, Quinn?" She reached up to massage her temples, hoping to soothe the growing migraine in her head. "Marcus is gone. He's gone. We have absolutely no traces of where he had been! We've tried days, we've tried weeks. Tried to be as cautious as possible, and stick to being one of Swain's dogs until we find him."

Her piercing green eyes glared at the indigo-haired woman and made sure that she had paid attention to everything she said.

"Do you know why Swain wanted you to kill the target and keep it away from us? It's a prime TARGET. Succeeding in this task is critical for the sake of the Du Couteau name. For OUR survival, Quinn. I'm trying to keep all of us alive until Marcus-" She paused, blinking away the slight pang of hurt by saying his name.

"Until we find him."

They avoided each other's gazes, having a moment to clear their minds. It had been so long since they've talked like this. Heck, they longed for the connection they had lost. Until then, their talks consisted more of playful banter and insults that women used to touch a nerve at each other.

The silly quarrels that siblings had. Stealing father's liquor or insulting the people in the pictures on his desk.

"We have nowhere else to go but stand our ground." She paused, looking at her sister, who was avoiding her piercing gaze. The tears threatened to spill, knowing that everything was crumbling apart. Their Nation, their family, their home. Katarina would never give Noxus up to Swain. If Noxus wanted to rise to power, Swain was not the most suitable person it. Endless feasts of war, spreading famine across the map, leaving orphans to fend for themselves.

Like Quinn, the war victim that their father had brought home after leading the Noxian soldiers under Swain's command. The job was simple. They were told that the farthest Demacian town was were they trained their future soldiers and hidden their weaponry. Ordered that they were to burn it all down and kill the occupants without any remorse.

But then it was all a lie.

Marcus knew the consequences of their actions after seeing her, the tiny young girl standing amidst the wreckage. The father in him just wanted to keep her safe and tell her the white lies that parents used to assure their children that everything was okay. She was the last one. As his ears were filled by the loud screams of women holding their children in their small houses as they faded into nothing but blackened bones and grey ashes. Their skins were marred with the blood of their murdered family members, wailing helplessly as the slow caress of death approached them.

He just couldn't leave her there. He has two children and he had to do something. The parent in him wanted to scream. What if Katarina was that kid? What if Cassiopeia lost everything like that kid watching as the silver-clad Noxian soldiers lit every house in the town of Uwendale in flames?

Katarina sighed, maybe she was being too hard on her sister. Her silence proved how she could not respond at any moment.

She slid the ink and quill on her side, along with the fresh stack of papers with the Noxian Insignia. The older woman stood.

"And one last thing." Katarina started, looking down into the golden eyes of the orphan she had called her sister. "There were reports of suspected Demacian activity, some were from last month until yesterday."

Nothing too difficult. But no challenge is easy, everything has a catch.

"Swain wanted to inform you about the list himself. He said it was a matter between the two of you." She had a worried look on her face, Quinn could see it in her emerald eyes.

"Look, Quinn. I don't want anyone in this family to get hurt, especially by that tyrant. Cassie was even worried about you. Going back to Demacia might have been hard but, remember where your loyalties lie. We are all that you have now." She placed her hand on the younger woman's shoulder, "You and Cassie are all that I have."

Emerald clashed against gold, after a few seconds, they avoided each other's eyes. As they felt the tears fill their eyes and keep them from spilling on their cheeks. It's the truth. Quinn's father, the Demacian Commander, was long gone, and now Marcus, the only person who had made her feel like one of his own, was gone.

She will succeed at every task she will be given. She owed it all to the Du Couteau who saved her and gave a whole new meaning to her life.

"I'll ask one of the maids to prepare you a meal." Katarina interrupted her thought, the heels of her boots clacked against the floor as she was about to exit the room. "And take a bath. You smell like a damn 2-day old corpse."

She smirked inspite of the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. Quinn sat up, reaching for the feathered quill with her left hand as she tapped the point onto the polished spruce, scanning the yellowed paper. As much as she'd appreciated the literary arts, being forced to write something like this was mentally trapping.

She definitely needed to numb all the emotions beating her to shit. She felt as if it was tearing her apart, the weakness she had shown, and the last time she'd seen the familiar eyes of her biological father.

Quinn felt the wetness on her cheek, allowing herself to filter the hatred and guilt she had for herself, for Katarina, for Marcus and Cassiopeia. Having a family who will always count on you gives a whole new meaning to failure. It could risk losing them.

Maybe one day, she would face the whole world without a speck of pain in her heart.


End file.
